Lavender and Lilac
by WargishBoromirFan
Summary: For Imrahil and the men of House Hurin, spring is a time to remember her. Part of the Den/Fin files, with oblique references to Terry Pratchett and Douglas Adams.
1. Reasonably Priced Love

Not my characters. I don't quite remember where the association between Findulias and lavender came from, but from there, it wasn't a big leap... Technically, I'd publish all of these on the twenty-fifth, to go with the holiday, but I figured I'd share the cross-Pratchett-Adams-Tolkien love early this year.

**Title:** Lavender and Lilac: Reasonably Priced Love  
**Rating:** G  
**Pairing:**(if there are any) Denethor/Finduilas implied, otherwise gen.  
**Summary:** For Denethor, spring is a smell.  
**Warning:**(if there are any) Nothing objectionable content-wise, I believe, but if you're familiar with Terry Pratchett's _Night Watch_, these titles will make a lot more sense than if you're not. 'Tis the season; after all...

Spring was just another season.

Snow melted in Minas Tirith, the rain slackened in Dol Amroth, and yet Sauron's forces fought them in the lenghtening days as surely as they did in the short ones. The warmth brought no release. His sons were still out in the wilderness, in the ruins, and he was still left to wrest what information he could from his councilors and the Palantir.

So, why was he drawn to the garden? Why did the scent of the fresh-bloomed stems of tiny purple flowerlets seem to ease his troubles? It didn't matter. Denethor plucked a sprig.


	2. Truth, Freedom, Justice

How do they rise up? By Papa Tolkien, Pterry, and D. Adams.

**Title:** Lavender and Lilac: Truth, Justice, Freedom  
**Rating:** G  
**Pairing:**(if there are any) Denethor/Finduilas implied, otherwise gen.  
**Summary:** For Faramir, spring is a color.  
**Warning:**(if there are any) 'Twas is my new favorite word now. The Faramuse wouldn't stay within word-count, otherwise, the little chatterbox... This is the slightly expanded version from the original drabble.

In summer, it was a tangle of green: leaves, mosses, and ferns dominated the landscape. In winter, the grays of the cliffside jutted from beneath churned snow. It was never white for long. By fall, it was brown: mud, tree-trunks, dead leaves, and old blood were all that were to be found. By spring, however, Faramir remembered why this had once been the garden of Gondor. It bloomed fleetingly here, blossoms ripped away and crushed underfoot more than they created fruit, but even the bitterest tangles of bush - twisted back upon themselves and choking their own branches in an effort to escape Arda, - sent out brightest flowers.


	3. A HardBoiled Egg

**A/N: **I don't own them. I have to salute Tolkien for the characters and Pratchett for the titles, so far. Wargie says: don't forget to bring your lilac towel next week!

**Title:** Lavender and Lilac: A Hard-Boiled Egg  
**Rating:** G  
**Pairing:**(if there are any) Denethor/Finduilas implied, otherwise gen.  
**Summary:** For Boromir, spring is a distraction.  
**Warning:**(if there are any) None.

He had never made a note of it, honestly. The scent, when set off with smoke and sea salt, was so deeply embedded into his childhood that he only became aware of it by its absence.

The seasons blurred; their passings charted in tactical annotations; their days accounted for with men's deaths. The Captain-General did not stop to smell the roses, or any other flowers. Not when he saw what his men, - his brother, even - went through. Not when his father awaited some sign of hope for life beyond the river. Boromir sighed, trying to deny the smell.


	4. Knowing Were Your Towel Is

**A/N: **Always nice when we get a triple convergence of the holidays. I own nothing but a lilac bush that's past its flower for the year and a few dog-chewed towels. This one goes out to Elvenpiratelady for siccing the Imrahil bunny on me.

**Title:** Lavender and Lilac: Knowing Where Your Towel Is  
**Rating:** G  
**Pairing:(if there are any)** Well, I guess Imrahil/his wife (who I call Ainaelin) is rather implied...  
**Summary:** Elphir has lost something treasured for generations.  
**Warning:(if there are any)** I'd blame El and Doug entirely, but J.R.R.T. deserves some credit, too.

Elphir entered his father's chambers at a dead run, a frown of certain doom upon his face. "I can't find it."

Imrahil started. The half-wild bushes outside the window were in full bloom, attracting ample distraction for him in the form of an irregular avian chorus. "Surely it must be somewhere within the grounds." This was hardly the first time members of the Line of Amroth had gone looking for it, but it still surprised Imrahil to find some of the locations it turned up. Over a tree branch, beneath a chair, buried with his sisters' old dresses…

"Here we are," Ainaelin said, emerging from the laundry.

Elphir scooped up the treasure from his mother, throwing his spare arm about her knees in gratitude. "Blankie," he sighed contentedly, rubbing the frayed fabric between his fingers.


End file.
